Al Shoula

Today, I went to Al Shoula, who should not be confused with any great former Miami Dolphins coach.

I went in a giant convoy of Army Humvees, which turned the visit into a 4th of July parade in Manlius, except for the fact that the kids don’t have love-handles.

We had troops with rifles, which is always something to see. More importantly, the troops brought candy. And let me tell you something: You want friends in Al Shoula? Think sweets.

We walked the streets, wearing full body armor and helmets, and every kid in creation ran up to us, begging for candy. Every single one had a Ph.D. in Cute Looking. They knew how to say, “What’s your name?” And they asked it over and over, whazyouname, whazyouname, whazyouname?

So I leaned forward, earnest man that I am, and said: “Hello. My name is Hart. What is your name?”

This was a mistake. I don’t know what Hart means in Arabic, but I have a feeling it is what people yell when a camel steps on their toe. Next thing I know, the kids are chanting “Hart, Hart, Hart!” in these distorted, zombie voices. It’s like the last reel of some Alfred Hitchcock movie, where the mannequins came alive. One guy even started singing a song, saying Hartharthart.

Creeped me out.

I figured out that the only thing to do was to march up and down the street, as if I was in a great hurry to get somewhere. Just stand there, and they’re singing about you.

But I will say this, a staff sergeant by the name of Eduardo “Big Ed” Ramos is destined for greatness. I watched this man stroll up and down these streets – let’s not forget that this is a war zone, folks, a place where people get killed in crowds – with kids swarming around him, and HIS SMILE NEVER CRACKED. Not once.

Prediction: This guy will someday be the governor of Tennessee.

ON A SIDE NOTE: The U.S. Army is reporting that it killed the three terrorists and caught one other who apparently were involved in the drive-by shooting attack, which I wrote about in yesterday’s Post-Standard. I don’t like celebrating anybody’s death. (Mr. D doesn’t need our help; he’ll get us in the end anyway.) But if these are the bozos who shot out a van and caused such suffering, it would almost be worth it to be a sinner, so I can see the looks on their faces when they arrive at their final stop.